Wise Men Run
by TheCreepingLullaby
Summary: T-Bag/Michael, slash. Theodore and Gretchen sell Scylla and Theodore finally gets what he wants. He can finally relax now and live in seclusion, but is that to much to hope for? The Mob has a special place in their hearts. Not an Abandoned fic! More asap.
1. Chapter 1

Gretchen strolled leisurely through the hall at Kingdom Hotel sporting a dark crimson suede mini, her heels clicking noisily as she entered the aforementioned meeting place Theodore and she had talked about. Gretchen spotted Bagwell resting his back against a wall anxiously, his cobalt pinstriped shirt and black tie slightly wrinkled. If Gretchen didn't know any better she would have guessed the man had been waiting for a funeral march, he looked so pitiful. Upon seeing her, Theodore brightened some. "You've brought whatcha promised," he asked in his edgy lilting Alabamian accent, twiddling and flattening his tie.

She took off her pitch black shades and slipped them into her purple purse, looking as serious and professional as always. Theodore could admire her businesslike attitude, he himself enjoying it at Gate. "He's in room 219, delivered to you, as promised," she said curtly, handing him a key. He clutched it roughly in his hands. Without so much as a thorough look around the deserted hallway, she slapped out a briefcase. She opened it, proving it carried the five-hundred thousand dollars separated into stacks of twenty thousand dollars each, like she agreed. "And here's your cut, the rest of the 1.2 billion will be wired to the off-shore account we discussed earlier." He looked around, annoyed that Gretchen wasn't being more cautious, but almost blanched, it was really happening, he was a /fucking/ billionaire. "I hope I have the pleasure of never seeing you again," she added, hardnosed.

Theodore clasped the silver case excitedly, and then turned solemn-faced at her stiffly retreating back. "Wait," he said worriedly, reaching out as if to stop her. "This key...Scofield's really in there."

She turned, smiling, "Like I said, 'as promised.'" She winked, dragging a dark black lock of hair behind an ear and slipping back on her shades, continuing back down the hall, disappearing.

Theodore couldn't be more enthused...he couldn't be more nervous. He pivoted hastily to face a mirror in the hall, fixing his dark brown hair so it wouldn't fall into his eyes or get fluffier or flatter than usual. He rubbed his face, brushing his mustache, and took a good look at himself. He was getting older, that was for sure. He was tired. More tired than he ever had been, but it was all over. Theodore could rest now. He could settle down. Staring at himself he decided to rehearse, after all, it would be an important affair. "Hey, Pretty," he started, "'S been a long time comin' and I think...," He sighed, aggravated, "No, no. Stupid." He tried again, "Scofield, the time has come...No, that's no good." He glared at his reflection. "Fuck it! I'll just pounce on 'em and tell 'em he's mine!" A little old woman, in a white dress with sunflower print and a hefty red hat on her head, gasped as the elevators doors eased open and she spotted Theodore yelling at the hotel's hallway mirror. He reddened, "Sorry, ma'am."

He nodded politely even as the lady stared suspiciously, wobbling off the elevator. He dragged the briefcase onto the elevator with him. His hand twitched as he pressed for the second floor. He couldn't believe he was this panicked, that Michael could affect him this easily. He scuffed his shoes, straightened his tie, and bit his lip. His stomach fluttered as goose bumps flooded his skin. He felt giddy.

The elevator made a little ding as its destination was reached and the doors opened. Stepping out he read door numbers apprehensively, '215...217...219. Here it is,' he thought, almost dreaded. What would happen? Would Michael put up a fight? Would he give in and act defeated? Was he even in there? Theodore honestly didn't know.

He grasped the handle after using the key. It was eerily quiet inside. The room was immaculate, grand and golden and everything that Theodore wasn't used to. There was a nice little kitchen to his right, a small dinning room slash living room he was now standing in, and a door to the left that was slightly ajar.

Theodore headed to the door immediately after dumping the suitcase in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He peeked inside, gasped. There, sprawled across the white duvet was Michael, asleep and unrestrained in a loose gossamer-like button down shirt. He thought Gretchen would have tied him up at the least, but on closer inspection- the awkward position coupled with the heavy sleeping- Theodore realized he must be drugged.

Drugged..."Damnit," he cursed, he would have to deal with this /shit/; he would have to deal with a drugged-Scofield. He had actually wanted Michael to be sentient of what was happening in their quaint little abode. Oh well...he wasn't choosey.

He slipped through the door, taking off his shoes and socks gauchely with one hand to set them near it; he approached the bed and leaned over it leering at Michael's innocently sleeping face and lily white complexion. He trailed his good hand down the side of one cheek and it grew hot in his palm, flushing in such a tempting way.

Theodore slapped Michael's cheek lightly, "Pretty? Come on, wake up." Glistening unfocused eyes met his threateningly sharp black ones. "What the hell did they give you," he muttered, mostly to himself as he was sure Michael wasn't listening, or comprehending.

Michael groaned, his neck arching faintly making Theodore draw his bottom lip between his teeth to still himself. "What's hap-happening?" He looked around in a daze and his drugged eyes widened as they settled on Theodore again. He murmured nonsensically, shortly, before, "Oh, God, why won't you just die?"

Theodore chuckled, "Aw, Pretty, you know just what t'say t'get my juices flowin', don'tcha?"

Michael pushed himself up groggily. He shook his head a bit trying to regain focus and sneered in disgust, "You pig." The first five buttons on the creamy white shirt had been undone and now one side of the attire exposed a blushing shoulder. Theodore stretched out his good hand for it.

Taking Michael's state of mind to his advantage, he pushed him back down by the burning shoulder, whispering in his ear, "Now if I were you Pretty, I'd do what Teddy here told me to do." Michael stared on in confusion and Theodore continued, taking hold of the shoulder tightly, thinking quick, "I have your pretty lil' doctor lady over in the next room, tied up all nice like," his eyes darkened and his voice grew rougher, "Any pleasure I don't receive from you, I'll take from your woman." Michael panicked, tussling weakly under Theodore's body, but the other man held fast. "Did ya hear what I just said?" Pretty stilled somewhat, calming himself and Theodore slackened his grip.

"W-What do you want me to do," Michael asked timorously, mostly from the tussle and whatever drugs had been so generously given to him. Theodore grinned; popping out a bottle of sweet scented lubrication, from his dark slacks, that he had bought for the occasion and set it aside. He lay down beside Michael, lounging back with great display. Facing him a little, he watched Pretty with an intent look.

"Undress me," he commanded. Michael paused a tad, but struggled to get to his knees, under the influence and on a strangely spongy mattress. He clutched at Theodore's shirt buttons clumsily and stumbled. Theodore steadied Michael's movements, placing his hands on Michael's hips and took hold of his hands, helping Michael with the buttons. He was so drugged that Theodore had an easier time undoing the buttons with one hand.

Michael looked slightly horrified as the cobalt colored pinstriped top was eradicated and Theodore's sleekly solid midriff came into view.

At that instant, Theodore couldn't help but to examine Michael's lips, shining and pink and just a bit pouty. He reached out, cupping Michael's face in a mocking lover's caress, his treacherous fingers traced delicately across the curve of them, "I want you to kiss me."

"But I-I," Michael stuttered, mouth opening and closing rapidly. Theodore yanked Michael down by the chin and pressed his thin and slightly chapping lips softly against Pretty's full ones. They stayed in the lip lock a moment, simple and sweet, if it weren't for Michael's silent terror, and breathtakingly lingering. Theodore pulled back and peppered a few more kisses from Michael's chin to his nose.

He hauled Michael across his lap and clasped his thighs. "Come on now, now with the slacks," he rumbled, dragging Michael's soft and normally adroit hands to his buckle. The younger man's fingers twitched and Theodore worried for a trice that it might be the drugs.

They undid the belt together and Theodore shimmied out of his slacks and underwear careful not to knock Michael from his lap. He lay there naked staring up at Michael and then pulled his hands from the wiry thighs, never looking away from those sweet grey eyes, to take care of Michael's pants. He drew them from Michael's pale thighs, drawing the thinning underwear down with it. Theodore chortled gently as he spotted Michael examining his stiff cock absorbedly while he tossed his soft blue pants to the side. "Keep staring at it like that and it really might just up and bite you."

Michael attempted to scowl but it contorted slightly and he replied with, "I wasn't staring." He pulled the creamy material of his shirt down over his thighs in a reticent manner. "Please, don't make me do this," Michael pleaded. Theodore seemed a little annoyed but composed himself, he didn't want to lash out. Distractedly, Theodore thought the moment would have been more romantic with some candles, ones that smelled like apple pie, not vanilla which he usually bought for Susan.

He pushed the milky fabric above Michael's thighs to stare at his flaccid penis. "I want you to keep this on," he said, tugging at the shirt. Theodore thought the shirt was appealing with its loose fit that framed the one shoulder and he liked the way Michael looked almost vulnerable at this moment, the drugs being a hefty factor most likely. He stroked circles over the trembling hips and brought his hand back to cup Michael's bottom. "You're going to ride me."

He grabbed the lubrication and Michael's hand, pouring the pleasantly perfumed substance in it. Michael hesitated glancing at his slick hand and Theodore sighed. "I'm not doin' all the work. You need t'prepare yourself."

"I've never done this before," he divulged. Theodore thought Michael was thinking about this all too hard. He was showing that tell-tale sign, the one he usually got when working on the escape, that strange fully captivated expression. Even more importantly, he noticed, he wasn't paying any attention to one, Theodore Bagwell.

Theodore jerked Michael's chin with the only hand he had left until their eyes met. "It's not rocket science, Pretty. You take these two fingers," here he raised Michael's glossy hand in the air, "and stick 'em up your ass," at this point, he lowered them to Michael's private area. "Then you're gonna wanna stretch yourself." He grinned, "Now, make sure you're in a fine position, so Teddy can get a good look at yuh."

Michael felt humiliated and detested Theodore at present more than ever, but obeyed his wishes nonetheless. He swiftly penetrated himself with two fingers at once. There was an indistinguishable soreness that he instantly regretted. He felt violated.

Theodore made an abrupt moaning noise below him that drew Michael's attention immediately. He scrutinized Theodore's expression. The gloomy brown eyes were looking on at Michael's hand as the fingers were pumping in and out quickly. An ardent blush spread from Theodore's cheekbones to the middle of his abdomen and he sensed more than saw his hip being massacred under Theodore's rigid grip.

"God, I've been waitin' so long," Theodore rasped. Michael was panting and his eyes unexpectedly shut as he rocked vaguely over him. Theodore decided he was fond of this sexual side of Michael. Perhaps one day Michael would take pleasure in their amalgamation as well. No, he /knew/ Michael would. It would just take him awhile to get used to the idea and perhaps one day he wouldn't have to use incentive like Sara to get what he wanted. They could work this out. He felt optimistic.

Michael's posture wilted and his thighs quavered. One thigh brushed against Theodore's erection inadvertently and he bowed under Michael. "Ugh, no," the whine fell past Michael's lips.

"Oh, yes," he hissed. "Get a move on now, Pretty. As much as I'd like this moment to last evermore, I'd rather be experiencing your snug lil' hole 'round my cock." Michael panted in exhaustion and seized the duvet securely. Theodore captured Michael's hips in a firm hold and lifted him so he was elevated over his erection. He eased Michael down onto his cock and Michael cried out as he was invaded.

Theodore breathed deeply and let his eyes take in Michael's form. He was still panting tiredly above him and he was bent over in pain. "Mmnh, it hurts," he moaned.

"Shh-shh, baby," he soothed, brushing at Michael's face gently and running his hand down his abdomen to feel the lustrous build of muscle. Theodore sighed playing with the shirt, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever had, Pretty."

Michael bit his lip and talked through it sarcastically, "Please don't say I should thank you for that oh-so-glorious remark."

Theodore just smiled. He did not have to say anything. He urged Michael's thighs upward so he would get the hint and Michael complied silently heaving his hips slightly higher and pushing back down. As he pushed down though, something astonishing happened. He knew the mechanics of anal sex, but he never knew it could be /this/ enjoyable. Pleasure flared from his nerves being stimulated by the head of Theodore's cock and he jerked suddenly.

Theodore gasped as Michael surprisingly squeezed around his erection. "Ooh," he grated out, "Yes, I need this from you." Michael didn't understand Theodore's affirmation. He suspected the injection Gretchen slipped him earlier had something to do with that. He ignored it and bounced a little to feel that incredible burn of bliss over again.

He watched through half lidded silver eyes as Theodore bucked wildly below him. He groaned keenly as his prostate was repeatedly hit and then gave a piercing moan as Theodore stroked his hardening shaft. Theodore started to speak again and Michael began to wonder why, he must like talking during sex, Michael determined, "I'm not gonna come till you do, Pretty." He stroked faster and pushed up into Michael's downward thrusts.

Michael reflected distantly that he shouldn't be enjoying this when Sara was probably in the next room. The thought was lost though as he arched backward faintly and Theodore finally took hold of his hips to thrust violently into his contracting hole.

"Come on, baby," he growled. "I'm gonna make you come on my cock." Michael turned his face away from Theodore's intense stare and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as he ejaculated and his creamy extraction flooded Theodore's abdomen.

Theodore grunted loudly and drove Michael's hips up and down more rapidly. Michael could hear soft slapping noises of his flesh hitting Theodore's and felt exceedingly weak. Wet warmth dripped down his thighs and he knew Theodore had finished.

Theodore laid Michael down tenderly pulling him to his chest. He ran his hand through the black cropped hair as Michael tried not to sob.

"It's okay, Pretty. You were perfect," he said. Michael stared blankly at him and turned his back to him in defiance. Theodore glowered, but massaged the protruding spine and kissed the younger man's temple. He burrowed his face into the back of Michael's neck and waited for the other man to fall asleep.

As Michael's breath evened out and Theodore was sure he was asleep, he drew himself from the bed and walked out into the kitchen bare. He washed his chest and stomach quickly with a soft red rag hanging by the kitchen sink. He checked some of the other cabinets to see if Gretchen had been kind enough to leave them groceries and satisfied after finding a few necessities, he tugged open the cabinet doors under the sink to retrieve the dull case.

Sitting on the plush couch he unlatched the briefcase. Five hundred thousand dollars was all his, the rest was hidden away in an off-shore account, and now he had Michael.

He would be upset in the morning, Theodore figured, more so after he'd find out about Sara. He had no clue as to where the doctor was currently located, but the lie had served its purpose.

He'd make Michael some sugary Southern style flap jacks in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael awoke by the light of the early morning sun streaming through the blinds from the only window at the back of the stifling bullion room. He smelled something mouth-watering wafting through the cracks of the slightly opened door, into his room, and up his nose. The aroma was tangy and sweet and it gave the impression of warmth in his sleep addled. It felt as if he hadn't consumed anything in days.

He had a wonderful dream that Lincoln had made his renowned chocolate chip pancakes, for his baby brother, like old times. Michael presumed this wasn't the case though as lovely as it sounded.

He remembered what happened last night. His nice shirt, the one Sucre bought as a present for his belated birthday, was crumpled and falling from his shoulders. Michael's thighs felt sticky and he removed the wrinkled duvet to observe the damage. No wounds, but his legs were covered with his and Theodore's dry semen. It felt grimy when his thighs brushed together and he wanted a scorching shower.

The red door creaked on its hinges and both Theodore and Michael looked startled as Theodore pushed through the door with a tray full of syrup covered flapjacks. Theodore looked at least embarrassed and a little misplaced as he tried to speak, "Oh, uh...Pretty. 'bout Sara-."

"She's not here, is she," Michael spoke softly. He felt livid, but he had no clue as to what he would do. He needed to get back to Lincoln and the others. He pulled down the edge of the material from his creamy white and slightly ruined shirt to better cover himself and realized his head felt more lucid than the night before.

"No, she isn't," Theodore said brusquely. He noticed Michael scowling but holding out his hands for the tray, and Theodore understood he won't have to elucidate why he brought the flapjacks in, as he put the tray in Michael's outstretched arms. He pointed to his head with the prosthetic hand, tapping it lightly against his temple, "Your head. It feelin' alright?"

Michael ate away insatiably at the steaming flapjacks and Theodore sensed the corners of his lips twitching upward into a grin. "Feels fine," Michael answered between mouthfuls, curiously peeking up at Theodore through his soot colored lashes witnessing the grin then suddenly dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, "Oh, God. You poisoned it," Michael added, blanching.

Theodore's eyebrows shot upward and he chuckled a bit before, "Now, Pretty, do you really think I'd go through all that trouble of duplicatin' my Auntie's recipe just t'kill yuh off? I'm sure there's better ways."

Michael grumbled but picked the fork back up to attack the pile of flapjacks again. "I need a shower," Michael breathed impatiently around a mouthful, his eyes judging Theodore's movement vigilantly.

"Then you'll get one," Theodore replied, running a hand from side to side in his own recently wet hair. "You can shower after you eat," he said, pointing with his good hand to another red door that Michael had overlooked, "The bathroom is right over there. You'll have to put on your clothes from last night. Then we're leaving." He watched for Michael's reaction as he leaned against the doorframe.

Michael looked annoyed and Theodore couldn't help but to find Scofield's response pleasing. "We're leaving," Michael questioned, frustrated.

"Yep, we gotta disappear," Theodore stated in a matter of fact tone, smirking and crossing his arms.

Michael set the tray aside roughly and covered his face with his hands. He was more than annoyed at the moment, he was furious. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he asked, "Where are we disappearing to?"

Theodore beamed brightly, "New York."

*****

Michael felt cramped sitting in the front passenger's seat of the lackluster '02 Hyundai Sedan. The former owner of the car had sold it to Theodore for the measly price of a thousand nine hundred and fifty-five dollars, not that it was worth much else.

Illinois turned into Indiana swiftly. It was wintry and bleak outside. Looking out the window at the swaying trees made Michael shiver.

He still wore the ruffled clothes he had from last night and even though the shower had helped, he still felt dirty and wanted a clean change of clothes. He fiddled with a crease in the shirt.

Earlier, and to Michael's great displeasure, Theodore had tried bundling him up in one of the Hotel's scarlet blankets, Michael showed he didn't take too kindly to this as he slapped Theodore's hands away. The blanket lay across his lap now, covering Theodore's lap as well.

At this minute, Michael wasn't tied to the seat, unless you counted the seatbelt, and Theodore didn't have a gun. Michael was still a prisoner, felt like a prisoner, he just hadn't found anytime to slip away from Bagwell. No, correction, Theodore made sure he didn't /have/ the time to slip away from him. There was a difference.../really/.

They had been driving for six miserable hours and neither of them had spoken a word. Michael rested his chin on his elbow and his elbow on the passenger door. The other hand stopped its fiddling to relax against the car heater as he searched for more warmth.

Out of the corner of one grey eye Michael could see Theodore's fatigued expression. They would probably stop at the next town. He could make out brightly colored lights in the far distance. Not New York but they were drawing closer.

Michael tried to make small conversation to fill in the white noise, "So, what will /we/ do once /we/ get to New York," he sighed.

Theodore glanced at him quickly, almost staggered, before turning his head back toward the road. "I got an auntie in Manhattan. We'll be stayin' with her a few days. Possibly more."

Michael placed his full attention on Theodore, glad to escape the silence. "That's peculiar. I thought all your relatives had died."

Theodore exhaled a tad noisily and explained, rubbing his slowly growing in goatee. "She's my auntie by marriage. Uncle died awhile ago, but I think she'd like t'see me."

Michael stared out the passenger window again, this time at the stark black ravens balancing on the power lines that ran vertically with the road, "I don't see how anyone would like to see you," he mumbled into his palm.

Theodore grinded his teeth together firmly and gripped the steering wheel hard. "Yuh better watch your mouth, Pretty." The steering wheel squeaked under the pressure.

"Sorry," Michael said unapologetically, turning to look at Theodore once more with some caution. Curiously he inquired, "What does she do for a living?"

Theodore loosened his hold and tipped his head toward Michael with a smile and responded, "She's Manhattan Island's Mafia Queen."

Michael choked on his own bitter saliva and concealed his mouth with his hands in mortification. "God, your aunt's a Mob Boss?"

"Runs the best damn Mafia Family in New York," Theodore admonished, playing with the car mirror so he could get a better look at himself and maybe sneak a quick look at Michael. "Works the tertiary sector," he included in their chat. Theodore smiled fondly at the road, "If yuh ask she'll probably tell yuh she works importin' fine china down from Italy."

Michael's interest was peaked, "Does she?"

Theodore chuckled, "Of course, how else is she gonna explain that lush lil' residence of hers. Yuh can't be pullin' in cash like that with no excuse."

Michael grinned looking out the passenger side window. "And I thought Abruzzi would be the only Mob Boss I'd ever associate with." Michael observed the downy grey clouds tiredly and rested his head against the window.

Theodore eased back into his seat comfortably. "Well, Abruzzi wasn't the only one with connections. I jus' preferred to keep some of my Aces up my sleeve."

"Is that so?" Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners in humor. Theodore nearly smiled back. "I recall several times those Aces could've been put to vast use for you." Almost laughing in amusement Michael dug blunt nails into his palm.

Conversation with Theodore had been practically normal. Michael could nearly forget all the wickedness Theodore had done and the wickedness he was doing now. Harking back up those recent memories however, Michael could not forgive and forget so easily.

Theodore sensed the sudden change in atmosphere in the minute space he and Michael shared. Michael looked as if to be nodding off in spite of this and Theodore decided to leave it alone as he watched Michael's eyelashes flutter close and his breath deepen.

Watching Michael sleep made Theodore feel like his stomach was in a flurried mess. It couldn't be affection or adoration. He wasn't in love with Michael. Michael was just a companion, a whore, someone to tend to his every whim. That was all he would ever be to Theodore, and once Theodore grew bored of him, he'd throw him away, like an old doll. Because that's what Michael was a symbol of, an enticing freshly painted marionette. He wasn't in love.

*****

"Hey, Scofield, wake up." Michael jerked awake at the sudden powerful tug on his upper arm. Somewhere along the way there was a light snowfall and the road was covered in a thin layer of frosty sheen.

Michael pulled the cherry coverlet tighter around his frame as he stepped out of the car and felt the icy wind stroke his skin. Theodore dragged him away from the car and closer to a dully colored red and yellow building. Michael brushed off the older man's hands as he steadied himself on the wet pavement.

After investigating several signs around him, Michael concluded they still resided in Indiana. He gazed up at a red and yellow sign reading, 'Super 8 Motel.' Not fancy like the Kingdom, but he presumed it was suitable for whatever Bagwell intended to do.

He could make out faint barking a few feet away and turned to see a mom and pop's pet shop decked out in bright Christmas lights with a couple of fuzzy faces and wagging tails peering out the windows.

Michael wanted to take a look. He had never owned a pet while growing up with Lincoln; his numerous foster parents had never let him keep one. He had always wanted a dog, but he wasn't about to ask Theodore like a child if he could take a closer look.

Michael was lugged by the elbow once again and pushed into the warm entrance of the Super 8 Motel. He sat down in the frayed grey chair next to the doorway and watched Theodore make his way up to the counter. The hearty old man situated at the counter typed away busily on a keyboard with a poorly flickering computer screen, while Theodore was gesturing ostentatiously in his usual fashion.

Michael scrutinized the distance between himself and Bagwell. He inspected the gap between himself and the exit. Theodore was occupied with the clerk and struggling with his good hand to grasp some cash in his back pocket.

Michael bit his lip. This was it. He had to run /now/. Adrenaline pumping full force through his veins, he tossed the cherry coverlet to the ground. Driving himself at the doors, at complete strength, he was out sprinting to the other side of the crowded street in five seconds flat.

Theodore whipped back around at the loud clang of the Super 8 Motel doors slamming together fiercely. The scarlet sheet dragged from the hotel was pooled like a puddle at the bottom of the seat Michael had taken. He could make out Michael's back clothed in the rumpled attire from last night swiftly making its way opposite of the motel's street.

His legs snapped into action, propelling him toward the doors and Michael who was a considerable distance away. As Theodore ran into the street his knee barely knocked into an oncoming car and he was nearly sideswiped by another. Feeling as numb as he ever had been by the instant piston-like pressure coercing through his vessels he kept darting his way after Scofield.

Michael's breath was coming in short rapid bursts of hot air. His heart beat rhythmically and deafeningly in his ears. He could feel the hot burn of blood flooding to his cheeks.

Theodore was behind him. He could hear the cracking of his shoes hitting the chipped asphalt maybe nine or ten paces back.


	3. Chapter 3

Michael pushed a few unsuspecting people out of his way as he made a mad dash away from Bagwell. It was close to pitch black at this time of night as he turned a corner of a building sharply in his sprint and vanished from Theodore's sight.

Shoving several people out of his way as well, Theodore made to turn the bend after Michael. Before approaching the edge of the building however, screeching tires pierced his eardrums and a thump reverberated together with a shrill yell in the street. Rushing around the corner he spotted Michael's crumpled form.

A couple faces stopped to stare and Theodore quickly rushed over to the fallen Michael. He grasped at Michael arms and legs, running a hand down his sides quickly to look for any irreparable damage. A long bleeding gash ran down Michael's left leg and Michael clutched his shin in pain. His hands convulsed over the wound and he trembled as his damp grey eyes connected with Theodore's own.

The driver hurried from her car, curly copper hair whisking about her panicked face. "Oh, God," she screeched. She hunched down next to them and spoke worriedly, "I'm so sorry. You just jumped out of nowhere. Oh, God." She gaped at Michael's blood soaked pant leg. "I'm so, so sorry. Do you need me to call an ambulance?" She looked nervously at Michael hoping for a positive reaction that would settle her fears of getting into trouble.

Theodore seized Michael's right arm and threw it over his shoulder drawing one hand underneath Michael's back and the other beneath the back of his knees in a disarrayed mode. "We'll be fine miss," he answered hastily. He struggled to stand with Michael in his arms although Pretty was lighter than he looked and Theodore had always been underestimated like the times when opponents were quick to judge him because of his shorter stature.

The copper-haired woman looked on distrustfully as she clutched her phone to her breast. "Are you sure? I have a cell phone," she retorted warily, frantically tugging the blowing hair from her face.

"No miss, I'll take 'im to the hospital." Scrutinizing her apprehensive look he added, "We're friends. My car's just a block away." He jutted out his chin to point at a random direction and started to walk in that direction with Michael. The woman stood there, but unwound her tight shoulders and calmly got back into her car, if a bit perplexed.

Michael's face was buried in his chest and Theodore's shirt felt wet. There didn't seem to be any broken bones and there wasn't anymore blood except for the drenched pant leg. Theodore's arms shuddered with the task of holding Michael's body weight and he stumbled now and then in the alleyway. Some citizens of the town stared, but kept to their own business.

They finally arrived at the reception area and the stout man from before looked alarmed as Theodore placed Michael in one of the worn grey chairs. Theodore strolled up to the counter with a tear stained and bloodied shirt, slapping down a hundred dollar bill and grabbing the room key left on the counter from earlier.

Theodore backed away from the man slowly, looking fiercely with his dark brown eyes into the man's own wide dreary ones. He lifted Michael back up into his arms and broke eye contact with the man as he looked for their room.

*****

Wheezing with exertion he grappled with the key and clasped the knob with one hand while fighting to keep a hold of Michael with his prosthetic one. The peach colored door flung open and Theodore, exhausted and dripping with sweat, dumped Michael onto the floral patterned bed.

"Yuh idiot," he shouted at Michael. He tangled his fingers in his hair and paced the cramped room in an agitated state, motioning with his artificial hand. "What the hell were yuh thinkin', Scofield?" He twisted his tongue in his mouth and let it slip between his lips, biting it lightly in an old habit.

Michael gave an angry look at Theodore as he held onto his injured shin. The look wasn't quite as affective as Michael thought though, with his face wet with tears and his puffy red eyes. "I was thinking that I was about to get away from you," Michael cried. He rubbed at his eyes with his whitely colored shirt sleeve. "I'm not a child, or a pet. You can't keep me! I will not be some kind of whore for you," he carried on. Michael moaned and squeezed his injury tightly. "Fuck, it hurts!"

Theodore sighed and wiped at his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. He composed himself and sat at the edge of the bed scooting closer to Michael. The younger man flinched back and Theodore glowered at him. "Come on. Let me check out that leg."

Michael clung to his shin rebelliously, then thought better of it and let Theodore take his bleeding leg. Theodore laid Michael's foot on his lap and rolled the blood drenched pant leg up until it reached Michael's knee. Theodore gaped at the wound, "Shit that looks nasty."

Michael cringed and lay back on the bed submitting his leg to Theodore. "I need to go to a hospital," Michael groaned. "It's going to require stitches."

Theodore leaned over to inspect the gash closer. "Don't be stupid, Pretty. We're still wanted men," he warned. "Sides, takin' you t'the hospital would mean you'd have a chance t'get away from me, and I can't have that." He pushed and prodded at the gash and Michael grunted in pain snatching at the sheets.

As supplies that would be needed for the gash ran through Theodore's head, red and blue lights flickered at the corner of his vision mockingly. He shot up from the bed immediately and looked out the window. A police car was parked outside of the motel and two officers lurched from the car to make their way inside. Theodore growled, "Damn it! That receptionist must've called the cops." He kicked the dresser near the window in rage and nearly ran his bloody hands over his face.

He looked around the room irritated, grabbing a handful of items as a second thought, and then hurried back to the window. He opened it and spotted the old sedan a few feet away.

Theodore realized their room had been located on the first floor, so the drop from the window would only be three or four feet. Sauntering back to the bed and swinging Michael's right arm over his shoulder, they stood together, Michael mostly on his right leg, but still standing. He set Michael down outside the window first and then crouching over the sill himself, jumped down after him.

Resuming their earlier position they hobbled swiftly to the sedan. Theodore unloaded Michael into the passenger seat and ran to the driver's side all but tripping. He shifted the clutch into drive and booked it out of the Super 8 Motel parking lot.

Michael's leg had stopped bleeding, but the wound was still open, could do with some stitches and remained painful. They hadn't eaten since that morning and now they had nowhere to sleep.

*****

At 1:53 a.m. Theodore waited impatiently for a distracted cashier to ring up a sewing kit, a lighter, gauze, a bottle of pure alcohol, Advil, water, and two beef jerky sticks. He sneered at the juvenile boy as he talked away on the drugstore's phone. Theodore tapped his fingers against the counter intolerantly. The items were bagged and Theodore snatched at the plastic bags, annoyed.

He stormed out of the drugstore and straight to Michael whom was curled in the passenger's seat and trembling noticeably around his leg. He looked in the region of the car, searching for some sort of answer, there was only one, "We'll have t'do this in the car," Theodore murmured at last.

"Fine. Do it quickly," Michael moaned. He thrust his leg toward Theodore whom gripped the leg and sat down in the car closing the driver's door behind him.

He handed Michael the container of Advil and the bottle of water, and with a sigh said, "Seein' as we had no choice, this is the best pain killer I could find."

Michael greedily swallowed two pills and quickly took a gulp of water. Theodore uncapped the alcohol and turned the leg so it was in a better pose. He let the alcohol flow over the cut and Michael hissed through his teeth.

Theodore used the lighter to sterilize one of the needles then set it down on some downy gauze placed untidily on the dashboard. Additionally, he poured alcohol over his hand to disinfect it. Winding a piece of thread through the needle's head, Theodore pushed the gash together so the wound closed. "Yuh better bite down on somethin', Pretty," Theodore advised.

The needle bored into Michael's flesh and he screamed, sinking his teeth into his wrist instantly. New tears fell from his eyes, collecting together to drip onto his sleeve and soak through his shirt. Michael jerked and whined each time the needle pierced his skin until ultimately Theodore had laced the final stitch and tied it off.

Michael surveyed his stitched leg. It hurt like a bitch. Considering the materials and his one-handed doctor the job was a fine one. Theodore wrapped his leg tightly in gauze and lay back groaning in relief that it was over. He used the back of his hand to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.

Michael settled his other leg on Theodore's lap and lay back against the passenger door. Theodore was asleep instantaneously. Michael couldn't help but study the deep lines around the older man's eyes, his pale gaunt face, and the feathery dark brunette hair that when the characteristics were grouped together made up Bagwell. Michael closed his eyes softly, positioning himself more comfortably then drifted off to sleep with the image of Theodore holding his legs gently in his lap.

*****

Theodore woke with a start at the angry tapping on his car windshield, 5:02 a.m. It looked to be the manager of the drugstore from last night. Theodore frowned fiercely at him and the man backed away from the car appearing spooked, but not spooked nearly enough as he hesitantly verbalized, "You can't sleep here it's against the law!"

Michael jolted awake at the shout and watched groggily as Theodore gnashed his teeth together and squared his jaw. He recognized that evil glint shinning in the other man's eyes and leant forward to some extent trying to grab Theodore's attention, but only succeeded in drawing the manager's awareness to their amorously embraced position.

The manager shook his head in aversion and strode back into the drugstore, murmuring, "Fucking freaks," underneath his breath.

Theodore watched the man oddly as he disappear into the drugstore. "Ow, T-Bag, you're hurting my leg," Michael complained. Theodore loosened his grip and moved Michael's legs from his lap.

"Go back to sleep, Pretty," Theodore said absentmindedly. He opened his door and wriggled out of the drab sedan.

Michael pulled his legs back onto his side of the car. He looked uncertainly up at Theodore. "What are you going to do?"

He didn't answer and Michael watched restlessly as Theodore strolled up to the drugstore and departed into the store.

*****

Theodore licked at his bottom lip as he entered the drugstore. He examined the room carefully watching for other bodies, other eyes. The manager was stacking boxes on a shelf in the back alone. Theodore loomed toward him.

"Excuse me sir," Theodore said politely, giving one of his most charming smiles.

The man turned around curiously then upon seeing whom it was, went back to restocking the shelves.

Theodore glared, "I said, excuse me sir."

"Take a hint, man. I don't want to talk to a fag," the man said busily moving on to a different section of the store.

Theodore followed after him, getting more irate with each second. "I jus' want yuh t'apologize."

"I'm not going to apologize you freak," the young man spat. Theodore noticed a pair of scissors resting innocently on the counter.

Theodore stretched his neck, running a hand through his hair. "There's that word again." He played with the scissors twirling them around on his fingers while the manager ignored him. "I don't like that word." He stopped spinning the scissors and gave a heated look at the man. "Reminds me of them /good/ ole times down in 'bama, all those whispers and stares in the halls at school."

The man set his work down angrily, turned and gritted his teeth at Bagwell. "I told you to leave. Take your pansy ass boyfriend and get the hell out of here."

Theodore clutched at the scissors hard. "I gave yuh a chance." He advanced on the man quickly and sheathed the scissors in the man's chest.

The manager gawked at the makeshift weapon sticking from his torso and took hold of it. Theodore ripped it from his hands and stabbed him again.

The man fell to the floor gurgling and bled out abruptly, staring vacantly at him. Theodore's hands were covered in blood, again…but this time for an entirely enjoyable reason. He grinned at the body.

The bell on the door sounded, signaling a visitor and Theodore jerked his head toward it. "God," a voice feebly cried.

*****


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Someone asked if this will be a mutual michael/t-bag relationship. Well it *is* labeled romance. I guess you'll have to stick around and find out!

A/N#2: I know it's been too long since I last updated. I feel a bit discouraged. Support through reviews should keep the story going! So, please leave a review, even if it's just to say 'keep writing'! :)

A/N#3: After I had already updated I went back and reread the last few chapters- There definitely isn't enough of Michael worrying about Sara, Linc and the gang. I guess I wanted this chapter to focus more on T-Bag and his feelings/past. There will be a bit more Michael angst next chapter as he will have to face that he might not be seeing Sara and Linc anytime soon.

________________

"Oh my God," the small voice more or less repeated. Theodore's panicked mahogany colored eyes landed on a waif of a child at the mouth of the manager's current coffin-like drugstore.

The girl raised both hands to cover her trembling lips as she stood stunned in the still very open doorway. Theodore rushed to the entrance in his dread and snatched the child's skinny arm, pulling her further into the drugstore. His eyes whipped around crazily for signs of other people.

The babyish looking girl, possibly twelve, with deep murky green eyes framed by dark greying circles stared openly at him. Theodore was at a loss for words. What could he possibly tell this child? She had seen everything- the mutilated body, his face, God, she could have seen the car, the only one in the parking lot.

He had killed children before, though not as young and under very different circumstances. He liked to believe that he had changed somewhat since his incarceration at Fox River. He swiped at his sweaty face with his prosthetic hand and watched as the girl gaped in all innocence at his disfigured limb.

"Whadya doin' in here," he asked. The clock read 5:24 am. What child in their right mind would be up at this hour, especially one without a parent?

A weak stuttered response was his answer. "M-My daddy, he needs his beer." She let her wide green eyes land on the body before flinching and turning away. "Tommy sells it to me."

"Beer, huh," Theodore tried his best to talk conversationally and managed a small smile at her. He noticed the manager's name tag reading 'Tommy' out of the corner of his eye.

"He gets cranky without it," she sniffled.

His eyes darted around the drugstore once more and he came to a decision. "What's yer name?"

"Molly."

The door suddenly swung open again with a whimsical ring and Theodore felt his neck snap in distress as it was cranked toward the doorway again. There stood Michael, his eyes wide with raised brows, his mouth slightly parted in horror. His attention now lay fully on the girl as she stood clutched within his claws. He knew Michael was frightened: for the girl, for himself- hell, maybe he was even frightened for Theodore in a sick dark way. Theodore wanted to laugh pathetically at the thought, Stockholm syndrome was unintentionally kicking in.

"What are you doing?" Michael's voice wavered and cracked. He inched himself cautiously toward Theodore and the girl, limping on his battered leg. He tripped over something strewn across the floor and slipped; blanching as he realized it was the manager's lifeless body now bleeding freely onto his worn chucks.

Theodore grabbed the girl by her hand and walked toward Michael grasping him by the elbow and dragging him back up to his feet. "Yuh need t'shut-up now, Pretty," he ordered. "I need to torch this place and find the tape from those cameras." There was a short pause before he took the girl's small pasty hand and placed it in Michael's warm larger one. "You two get in the car."

"But, T-Bag-," he started to protest. His pale fingers twitched around the girl's small wrist.

He turned to Michael and wound his hand harshly against his neck in a flash, feeling the pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips rapidly. "Get your ass in the car or the police will find three dead bodies insteada one." He loosened his hold on the younger man's neck and let his fingers trail lazily across a cheek to tangle in the wispy growing black hair. He ruffled it like one would a young child and patted his cheek mockingly as he got to work.

He strolled down the aisle stocked with cleaning supplies.

Michael squeezed the girl's hand. He thought of letting her go, telling her to run, and perhaps stopping Theodore from chasing after her, like some goddamn hero, but the possibilities of her getting away unharmed seemed slim to nothing. At the moment Theodore, even with his fake limb, was in much better condition than Michael and his legs were much longer than the child's. He would be able to fight off Michael easily enough with his damaged leg and catch up with the girl in no time to ultimately kill them both. They had a better chance waiting in the car.

His hand shook as he gripped the car door's cool handle. He pulled open the door and pushed the seat forward allowing the girl to crawl into the back. Michael followed her crawling into the front passenger's seat and shutting the door with a fatal clank. There was no going back now. What was Theodore thinking? He should probably just be thankful the girl was alive, but under the circumstances…maybe she would have been better off dead. Theodore could be unsurprisingly unpredictable and surprisingly predictable at the same time.

"What's your name?" he whispered, as if Theodore would seep up from the ground and appear at the car door at any moment.

Theodore held a bottle of lighter fluid in his hand popping the top of the lid off with his thumb. He poured the bottle of lighter fluid over the body along with the used rags in a careless fashion and dropped the bottle next to the body. Another bottle was held with greater care as he made an oblivion of Michael's footprints.

Sweat dripped from his russet brow and stung his eye. He swiped at it with a stained shirt sleeve. His blunder of choice in the murder of the manager was most apparent now as the high of his kill wore away with the commencement of panic. These bouts of extreme and unexplained rage had been the end and ruin of his childhood and to most of his adult life.

Michael had it so easy, Theodore thought. He had been pampered and rich, a big-shot Engineer and a high class snob. His mother had died young, but surly Linc the Sink and Pretty had gotten cozy enough with a relative. A boy as sweet as Michael always had a home.

Not like Theodore who had been passed around to different unwilling relatives every chance his father got. Forever misunderstood and underestimated. A gross abrasion on the festering boil that made up his kin.

His Aunt was different though. She had been like the girl next door when he was seventeen. They had grown up together one summer, close in the same age and nearly equal in acumen. Her presence had been a relief in their four short years together.

Her marriage to his uncle at twenty one had been an unpleasant discovery and had taken place the same year Teddy had been prosecuted for his vastly sordid deeds- battery, assault, murder, kidnapping and rape- while functioning under the Alliance of Purity, a group he had joined at the tender age of fifteen.

She had certainly been angry with him, but she remained the only family member to visit Donaldson Prison every Friday till she had convinced her father, fifteen years later, to run an inside job for his breakout.

Those brief months spent in liberation with Susan Hollander and her children, after the lingering fifteen years in Donaldson, had made him reevaluate his way of life. Susan made him want to be a better man, which in turn made it all the more aching with her betrayal.

Best not to think of the past, he reflected. He had what he wanted now, what he had craved for since laying eyes on Pretty for the first time in Fox River. Michael made a very notable trophy.

Michael sat nervously in the car waiting for Theodore to return. Molly had been rather quiet and had not put up as much of a fight as he had expected her to. As of now she sat in the back seat looking through the car windows eagerly.

Molly's stomach growled and Michael's ached in sympathy. No sleep and no food made Michael a dead beat. Food was immensely essential for energy and he would need all his energy to heal. A plan needed to be formulated if Molly and he were to ever escape Bagwell, healing would be his first step.

A lone figure appeared from the now smoldering drugstore. Small wisps of smoke curled and twisted as they exited the store's glass door with Theodore. A hefty black garbage bag was lugged behind him as he made his way toward the sedan. He inaudibly settled the bag in the back seat next to Molly. She quickly riffled through it and squealed as she snatched a box of Twinkies.

"Is this food for us, Teddy," she asked. Theodore raised a brow in Michael's direction.

At the elevated brow Michael looked away and faced the car window murmuring, "Well, I couldn't have her calling you T-Bag."

Theodore tossed himself into the driver's seat and Michael wrinkled his nose in distaste as the smell of lighter fluid combined with smoke wafted from the other man's clothes and hit him full force. Theodore turned to the girl with a disarming smile. "Of course, Bunny," he chuckled. Molly scrunched her nose at the nickname.

He quickly looked toward Theodore in irritation. "What are we doing about this," he questioned, motioning angrily at the girl.

Theodore licked his lips before biting his tongue in thought looking into the rearview mirror at Molly as she munched on a Twinkie. "She's goin' with us," he said simply.

Michael exploded. "What are you thinking? She needs to go home!"

Theodore twisted toward Michael heatedly as he started the car. "She's seen our faces, she knows what we did. Pretty, she can't go home," he finalized.

"I-I…I don't want to go back home. Can't you just take me with you?" She placed an undersized hand on Michael's shoulder pleading more with those hazy green eyes than her own words.

Theodore looked pointedly at Michael. "'Nough said, the girl comes with us."

Michael sighed in defeat. "Any cereal bars back there," he asked. Molly smiled before digging her way back into the bag.

Molly fell asleep after two hours of being on the road. Her sugar high had led to the discovery of her being a very troublesome traveling partner, but the information made Michael feel light hearted.

As the hours of driving on straight grey highway wore on, Michael realized that the responsibility of caring for Molly would fall on his shoulders. He almost didn't mind. As selfish as it sounded, he was glad he wouldn't be alone with T-Bag.


End file.
